Haddi put three steaming mugs on the table and sat back down again. ‘So, what’s on the agenda for Hvalvík’s guardians of law and order, chief?’
Gunna came back to the front office from her own room holding a batch of papers which she slapped on the table.
‘Simple. Haddi, I need you to mind the shop. Snorri, you can take the smart Volvo and go up to the InterAlu compound. Introduce yourself to the manager there. He’s called Sveinn, nice enough bloke, but don’t make any promises. Most of what we have to deal with here at the moment is traffic to and from the InterAlu site, which is the smelter they’re building on the far side of the harbour. There are dozens of trucks every day and every now and again there are low-loaders with the heavy equipment.’
‘They go right through the town?’
‘Not now. The back road was built up in the spring, so most of it can bypass the town itself, and sometime in the autumn they’re due to start dredging the harbour to deepen it, after which they’ll start bringing in the very heavy stuff by sea. All right?’
‘Yup. I’ll go and see Sveinn. What’s happening with the other construction – the hydroelectric one?’
Gunna sighed. ‘That’s going to be a nightmare when it really gets into gear. There’s going to be a huge volume of traffic going both ways when they start clearing the site. Haven’t you been up there?’
‘Not since the project started,’ Snorri said.
‘It’s a bloody awful road up there past Stjáni at Læk’s place. But it’s their problem, so they can sort it out when the time comes. All right? You’d better be back from the InterAlu place before eleven so Haddi can do his usual tour of the docks.’
Haddi smiled to himself.
‘Don’t get the car dirty, or Haddi’ll be furious.’
‘And what might you be up to today, Gunna?’ Haddi asked.
‘I have a meeting with Vilhjálmur Traustason to brief him on our dead guy’s case in half an hour. And considering it’s a good forty minutes’ drive to Keflavík from here, I reckon I’m going to find the old fool in a bad mood when I get there.’
She planted her cap squarely on her head and made for the door.
‘So I’ll see you boys later. Look after the place for me.’
Gunna didn’t break any speed limits getting to Keflavík, although by the time the Hvalvík station’s second-best Volvo pulled up outside the Keflavík police station she was running almost an hour late.
‘What brings you over here, darling?’
Bjössi’s question was her first greeting inside the door, where Bjössi was standing with a mug in one hand and a pack of filterless Camels in the other on his way to the back door for a quiet smoke in the bright morning sunshine.
‘Can’t keep away. Nothing like a visit to the big city to remind a girl of what she’s missing out in the country.’
‘That’s what I keep telling you,’ Bjössi agreed, pushing backwards through the doors with his hands full. ‘See you in a minute …’
‘Ah, Gunnhildur, I’m terribly sorry to have to keep you waiting,’ a breathless Vilhjálmur Traustason apologized, bustling past in the opposite direction. ‘A meeting with the Sheriff took a little longer than anticipated,’ he explained as if to a wayward child, while Gunna strode along in his wake.
In his small office Vilhjálmur waved Gunna to a chair and carefully placed his cap on the top of his filing cabinet on his way to his own chair. He leaned on his desk and placed his palms together in a steeple in front of his face.
‘Now,’ he said, as if preparing himself for action. ‘The drowned man, Einar Eyjólfur Einarsson.’
‘You have my interim report already, so you know everything I do for the moment.’
‘I want to know what you think.’
‘I think he was murdered.’
‘Really?’ There was a brief note of fright in his voice. ‘Why? The man had a very high blood alcohol content and Sigmar at pathology says drowning was the cause of death.’
‘That’s right. But we don’t understand how a man on a night out in Reykjavík managed to drown in an obscure backwater a hundred kilometres away.’
‘You think it’s suspicious, not just an unfortunate accident?’
‘Of course I do! His blood alcohol content was so high that the man could probably hardly walk, let alone get from a bar on Laugarvegur to Hvalvík without some help. I understand that Einar Eyjólfur wasn’t a habitual drinker at all – quite the opposite.’
‘Of course this matter warrants further investigation, but it isn’t a murder inquiry until there’s evidence of foul play. There’ll be an inquest, but unless there’s evidence to the contrary, the verdict will certainly be death by misadventure.’
‘It stinks. There’s just so much that needs to be explained.’
‘Well, I suppose you’d better do your best. But I’m concerned that this could be a waste of your time. Find out what you can in the next week or so, and then we’ll see. Hm?’
Gunna knew that Vilhjálmur was a man who played everything by the book and would sooner cut off a hand than break a rule. She desperately wanted to ask why he was so unconcerned about Einar Eyjólfur’s death, but restrained herself.
‘I could do with some help on this one. CID are too busy with narcotics as it is. Can I have an officer for a week to help me out with the leg work?’
Vilhjálmur lifted his steepled hands to bring the fingertips in line with his prominent nose.
‘We are overstretched as it is and I don’t have a single spare officer at my disposal, at least not now that Snorri Hilmarsson has been transferred to the Hvalvík station,’ he said pointedly. ‘However, I had in fact anticipated your request and have already discussed this. The city force will be working with you on this case and Sævaldur Bogason will be assisting you.’
Gunna groaned inwardly. ‘Bloody hell. The man’s like a bull in a china shop.’
‘Sævaldur is an experienced and effective officer who gets results,’ Vilhjálmur said coldly.
‘Fair enough,’ Gunna sighed. ‘I’ll get over there and talk to him.’
‘That would be advisable,’ Vilhjálmur said, picking up the old-fashioned fountain pen from his desk, his attention already on the top report in a pile, indicating that the meeting was at an end.
‘Do you mind if I ask some background questions?’ Skúli asked timidly.
‘Fire away, young man. If there’s anything I don’t want to tell you, you’ll find out.’
Skúli sipped his Coke. They were sitting at one of the few small tables at a truckstop at the top of the heath halfway between Hvalvík and the handful of small communities to the east. Rain from a sudden shower pelted down outside from clouds as black as inky fingerprints on the western sky and formed rivers that flowed down the truckstop’s windows.
‘How does the station at Hvalvík run?’
‘It’s not a main police station, so it’s staffed during the day. Normally there’re three of us: me, Haddi the old guy and Snorri the new boy. We belong to Keflavík, so out of hours any police services have to come from there – in theory. In reality the three of us are in and around Hvalvík most of the time. Then we have the rural areas we have to visit on occasions, like today.’
‘So you do a nine-to-five day?’
‘It doesn’t work like that, I’m afraid. We run watches outside station hours so one of us is always on call all the time, so you can be at work even if you’re asleep at home. I like to keep work and personal life separate as far as is possible in a little place like this, but a lot of the time it’s just impossible.’
‘How do you mean?’ Skúli asked.
‘Well, in Reykjavík or even Akureyri, you can change out of uniform and not be a copper any more. You can’t do that here. Everyone knows you’re the police, whether you’re in uniform or mowing your lawn.’
‘So it really is a full-time job?’
‘Absolutely. And that’s something that people can fail to grasp. Yesterday e
vening some kids were out playing behind the school and they found a mobile phone somebody had lost. They could have taken it home and given it to their parents to hand in at the station, or tried to find the owner, or just kept it, I suppose. But no, they knocked on my door and gave it to me, because they all know where Gunna the Cop lives and it didn’t occur to them that I might be off duty.’
‘Is this a problem for you?’
‘Not at all. It’s just part of being on the force in a rural area. It’s part of the package. But it’s the same in town to some extent. Your neighbours are always going to know you’re in the force and they might treat you slightly differently, or they might not.’
Skúli wrote hasty notes on his pad.
‘So. Young man. Tell me, why Hvalvík?’
‘Don’t know really. It was partly my idea, I suppose, and Reynir Óli said it might make a good feature.’
‘Who’s Reynir Óli?’
‘My editor. It was all set up through the police PR department. I asked the lady there for somewhere rural to go to, but not too far from the city, so she called back the next day and suggested Hvalvík or somewhere up in Snæfellsnes.’
‘So you chose Hvalvík.’
‘Yup. Closer to town,’ Skúli said, delicately wiping the detritus of hot dog from his chin. ‘And it sounded a bit more interesting as well,’ he added sheepishly.
‘Why?’
‘Well, one of my colleagues said it might be a better feature because there are so few women in the police.’
‘You what?’
‘He reckoned it might make a good story because there aren’t many female police officers of your experience.’
‘You mean all the policewomen you see are these young ones who’ve been in the job for five minutes and you might get something more out of an old bag like me?’
‘Um. Yes.’
Gunna grinned. ‘Good answer. When being questioned by the law, just tell the truth. And who told you this?’
‘Jonni Kristinns, the political editor.’
‘I know Jonni well enough from when I was in the city force. He’s a friend of the bloke who was my partner at the time.’
‘Your husband?’
Gunna looked sourly across the table at Skúli. ‘No. My police partner when I was on the city force. You work together a lot of the time and I suppose in many ways your partner is someone you get to know better than a husband or a wife.’
‘Is this guy still in the police?’
‘Bjössi? Yeah. But he moved out of the city as well, and out of uniform. He’s in CID in Keflavík now.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘Björn Valsson, known as Bjössi. I haven’t seen Jonni in years. He was on TV as well, wasn’t he?’
‘I think so, a while ago. He’s one of those old guys who can’t keep away from paper.’
Skúli was acutely aware that he had asked few of the questions he had lined up, but had again ended up doing most of the talking while Gunna asked the questions.
‘How long have you been in the police?’ he asked finally.
‘Sixteen years, with a break in the middle.’
‘What for?’
‘You know, children, all that stuff.’
‘So you’re married?’
‘Not any more.’
‘Is it long since you split up?’
Gunna gave Skúli a sharp look. ‘Is this really necessary? The last thing I want to see is my private life splashed across Dagurinn on a Saturday morning.’
‘No, it’s not for print. It’s just, you know, for me to build up a picture of you,’ Skúli gabbled. ‘I don’t want to put in too much personal stuff, but people like to see it.’
‘All right,’ Gunna said unwillingly. ‘I have a son from a relationship when I was in my teens. Gísli’s nineteen now. I have a thirteen-year-old daughter with my husband, who died eight years ago in an accident that I don’t want to discuss. Is that enough for you?’
‘Plenty, thank you,’ Skúli said gratefully. He had noticed the broad gold ring on Gunna’s finger and wondered why she had never mentioned a husband. ‘How did you wind up in a place like this?’
‘You mean, what’s a girl like you doing in a nice place like this?’
‘Yeah. I mean, no,’ Skúli stumbled. ‘Sorry. That’s not what I meant. Are you from around here originally?’
Gunna smothered a grin. Making the lad gabble with embarrassment was becoming a source of light relief during an otherwise dull day.
‘No. I’m not from round here. I’m from Vestureyri.’
‘What? Right up there in the western fjords? Wow. So, why Hvalvík?’
‘All right, here we go. I was brought up in Vestureyri, worked in the fish when I was twelve, all that stuff. When I was nineteen one of my uncles suggested I could be a copper for the summer. I thought – why not? My mum was happy to babysit for me. I gave it a try as a probational constable for a few months and got a kick out of it. Less money than working in the fish, but a lot more interesting.’
‘So you stayed with it?’
‘Yup. Applied to the police college and was accepted straight away. There weren’t many women going into the force then, so they were glad to get applications, although my family weren’t too pleased when I moved south for the winter so I could go to college.’
Skúli decided to try Gunna’s tactic and sat in silence for her to continue.
‘So, we moved back west in the summer and I was on the force in Vestureyri for a few years. Then I met Raggi and moved south to live with him, and transferred to the city force.’
Skúli sat in expectant silence, already chastened once, while Gunna’s face hardened.
‘After my husband died I was on compassionate leave and then sick leave for the best part of a year. The posting at Hvalvík came up and I applied and got it, which was something of a surprise. And I’ve been here ever since,’ Gunna concluded with a deep breath.
‘What, er – what happened?’
Gunna glanced at him sharply and Skúli felt he had been slapped. ‘Are you listening or not?’
‘Listening.’
‘Like I said, it was an accident. I don’t want to talk about it. You can look it up in the cuttings, February 2000. That’s the end of the potted biography, and I don’t expect to see any of that in print. Understood?’ Gunna instructed with a chill in her voice.
‘Understood.’
‘The rain’s stopped,’ Gunna observed, looking out at the sun bursting through the ragged clouds. ‘If you’ve finished eating, we can be on our way.’
5
Saturday, 30 August
‘He got pissed and passed out, fell in the water. Drowned while unconscious,’ said the barrel-chested man squeezed into the passenger seat.
‘Sævaldur, we know that,’ Gunna told him sharply. ‘How the hell did he get from a bar in Reykjavík to Hvalvík harbour? He didn’t drive and he was already so drunk he could hardly walk. So who helped him?’
Sævaldur Bogason yawned and tried to stretch. Gunna frowned, drumming on the wheel with the fingers of one hand. She wondered whether or not to call home and find out if Laufey was out of bed. She stifled the idea straight away, telling herself that there was practically no chance that her daughter would be awake at this early hour of a Saturday morning without a particularly good reason.
Gunna forced her thoughts back to Einar Eyjólfur. She was concerned that her interviews at Spearpoint had yielded nothing concrete beyond a picture of a young man who kept very much to himself and did his job well. Unusually, he had no immediate family and only a small circle of friends made up mostly of past and present colleagues from work, with the exception Dísa had mentioned of Egill Grímsson.
Dísa’s comments that Einar Eyjólfur had been worried during his last few months of life stuck in Gunna’s mind, especially as Sigurjóna claimed to have been unaware of anything out of the ordinary. She made a mental note to search for Egill Grímsson’s name among filed repo
rts.
‘So, where are we now?’ Sævaldur asked. ‘I vote we just sit here until it stops raining.’
‘This is Reykjavík. It’s not going to stop raining.’
Gunna scanned the notes she had been keeping as they tracked Einar Eyjólfur’s last night. He had been with Jón Oddur and the Danish chewing gum manufacturers on Monday evening. After a meal at a Chinese restaurant on Laugarvegur, the group had moved on to a faux-Irish bar called McCuddy’s. Around eleven, the Danes politely bowed out, pleading an early flight home the next day, while Einar and Jón Oddur had carried on to several bars, of which the Emperor was the last, a bar where trouble could generally be easily found.
Gunna looked up through the rain-streaked windscreen at the Emperor’s windows across the street. The place looked no more inviting than had McCuddy’s half an hour ago. A narrow face peered out at the street through the glass panels of the door and vanished.
‘Come on then,’ Gunna instructed, swinging open the car door.
It was dark inside the deserted bar. Chairs were still stacked on tables and the floor was littered with last night’s debris.
‘Hey! Anybody about?’ Sævaldur called out.
The lights flickered on and the face Gunna had seen at the window scowled around a door.
‘What do you want?’
‘A word with the manager,’ Gunna replied, stepping forward. At the sight of the uniform, the man scowled again. ‘Monday evening. Who was here then?’
‘That was days ago. How should I know?’
‘You mean you don’t keep staff records?’
‘Well, yeah. Of course I do.’
‘Then you’d better look it up.’
In the bar’s cramped back office the man flipped through a diary while trying to stop himself yawning.
‘OK,’ he announced at length. ‘Me, Adda, Noi and Gugga on the bar, Geiri and Gústi on the door.’
‘Full names? And is that all of them?’
The man groaned.
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